Red slippers. Under your bed.

June 6, 2012

Red slippers. Under your bed. On your feet. The kitten sleeping inside. A spider’s web. Those lovely tiny feet in my hands. I remember teaching you about all the cans. And the can’ts.

I measure my years in yours. Can hardly remember. Falling apart. My shoulders could hardly sustain your body. But it was a blessing. When you were shaking with laughter.

I heard that you were depressed. That anger had almost kept you from breathing. That there were too many choices. That there must be an easier way. That sometimes you fell asleep. Feeling alone and too far away.

Remember when I taught you to fly. How we soared. You said it was jumping. I said lets not quarrel. Over a definition. I hope you’ll be able to laugh. At the cemetery.